


Jay Bee: Business is Pleasure

by redpaint



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Magazine Article, Memoirs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: Now officially retired from sex work, Jay has dedicated his time to sex education campaigns and the penning his tell-all debut memoirLove To The Limit: Confessions of a Male Escort.In this exclusive first look, adapted from the upcoming book, Jay meets his most famous client and learns what it feels like to be on the other side of the transaction.
Relationships: Jenson Button/Nico Rosberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 32





	Jay Bee: Business is Pleasure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [partywitharichzombie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/partywitharichzombie/gifts).



> Technically a prequel to _Romance d'un soir si ça t'enchante,_ but it totally works as a standalone.
> 
> for partywitharichzombie, with so much love. us jenson simps need to stick together.

#  Jay Bee:

### 

_Business is Pleasure_

  


Everyone knows Jay Bee, even if they don’t discuss him in polite company. Between his nationally syndicated sex and dating column, his collaboration with the intimacy nerds over at Lelo, and nearly twenty years in the ranks of Europe’s class of elite escorts, it’s safe to say that Jay had made a not-insignificant impact on the quality of sex in Britain. While his column took the business of pleasure out of the shadows and into sitting rooms across the nation, his frankness always came with a heavy dose of secrecy about his identity. Even his most dedicated readers wouldn’t have recognized him on the street.

It came as a surprise to many when Jay (under his given name, Jenson), did away with his anonymity in order to advocate against a bill that would have limited the privacy rights of escorts and other sex workers. Though the bill was eventually defeated, he hasn’t shied away from the spotlight in the years since. Now officially retired from sex work, Jay has dedicated his time to sex education campaigns and the penning his tell-all debut memoir **Love To The Limit: Confessions of a Male Escort.** In this exclusive first look, adapted from the upcoming book, Jay meets his most famous client and tries being on the other side of the transaction.

  


* * *

For most of my career I did two extended trips annually: one in Europe and one that alternated between Asia and North America. Unless clients have an ongoing arrangement, they tend to get bored easily and start looking for something or someone new. That's where the system of referrals came in. Even before social media, we knew that if we needed to leave town we could connect our clients to whoever was in town for the week. It wasn’t just about networking to get yourself a full schedule — there was safety in having someone else vouch for someone before you met them. That’s how I met Erik*. (*Names and some identifying information have been changed.)

I was traveling in Germany at the time when I got a call from a close friend. He was looking for someone to take care of a regular client while he was on his own yearly trip to the UK. He kept stressing how important this relationship was, and how he'd have my balls if I went and fucked it up. I just chalked it up to not wanting to lose a good customer. Now, most clients were older, typically business types with at least two divorces and no time to keep up with an actual affair, but a couple of times in my career I believe I was chosen for the discretion I provided. Erik definitely fell into the latter camp. I didn’t realize it at the time.

I always arranged first meetings at a bar or restaurant, and when we finally met up (he was late but apologetic) he was warm and well-mannered. Most guys struggle with some amount of nerves or shame, but as soon as we moved to my hotel room (his request) it was clear he didn’t have that problem. Erik stripped down practically as soon as I closed the door, kissing me and trying to get me naked as well. It was bad manners and he had enough experience to know better — I had to make him stop and then counted the money right in front of him. When I was sure I was getting paid properly, and once the right amount of anticipation had been fostered, I turned back to him to figure what had him so worked up.

He said there had been something he wanted to do, something he couldn’t really do with my friend. I braced myself for it to be really weird — I always seemed to attract the weird ones. When he said he wanted to pretend that _I_ was the one paying _him_ for sex, I had to stop myself laughing.

Every bit of clothing he wore was designer. He’d paid for our drinks with an invite-only credit card. What the hell was I supposed to do, hand back over the money he’d just given me? Still, I was a professional fantasy-fulfiller, and so I kept my cool. I asked him a few more questions, and it became clear that he had a whole roleplay planned out in his head. Unfortunately, it was late, too late to start. But the more I got him to talk about it, the more the confidence started to slip. I was able to see how much he wanted it — I could tell it intimidated him, underneath it all.

That night I got away with fucking him slowly while I got him to describe, in detail, how it would feel to get paid for it. He blushed all the way down his chest and in the end he seemed satisfied enough. Still, I knew it probably fell short of really scratching that itch. I gave him my private number and told him to get in touch the next time he was in London.

It was nearly a year before I heard from him again. I was hoping it would be sooner, but business travel is unpredictable and I had plenty of regulars to fill my calendar. On the occasions I thought about him I wondered if I’d somehow pissed him off by not going along with the roleplay he wanted. He seemed like the kind of guy who needed things to go his way. Eventually, he called me, which I thought was delightfully old-fashioned for his age. I was sure to be straightforward about what we would do — I was still getting paid my usual rate, plus the four hundred pounds I would be handing back to him in the form of Visa gift cards. Still, I had a little fun haggling down his price, making sure he knew that, as a first-timer, he wouldn’t be able to ask as much as I could. I’m pretty sure he had a wank after we hung up.

My uniform for dates was understated but dressy, something that blended in at every hotel bar the world over, always impressive but never threatening. On the night of his appointment I made sure to pull out the nicest things in the old wardrobe, including a pair of frankly braggadocious Tom Ford underwear. I hadn’t been anxious about a date in years, but I remember leaving my flat early just to try and quiet my mind a little. I was curious about what Erik thought my job was like, even if we were doing it entirely on his terms.

He looked good, clean-cut and modest, though he’d let his hair grow a little longer since the last time we’d met. We chatted over some light tapas and warmed up to our roles. I ordered a tonic with lime while he was in the bathroom and sipped it slowly to further the illusion. He stuck with water.

It was kind of fun, pretending we hadn’t met once before. I think he had prepared a whole backstory, which was pretty impressive: moving to the UK for school, saving up to go back, fluent in several languages but looking to learn more. I made things up on the spot, pretending to be a normal guy treating himself to a birthday gift. Improv isn’t my best skill, and I definitely stumbled in a few spots, but I muscled through. As we finished up he leaned across the table and asked if I wanted to see his room upstairs — not so subtle, but effective. I considered suggesting that we stay at the restaurant for another drink, a real one this time. I still couldn’t quite settle my nerves, and the collection of gin behind the bar was appealing. I held off and followed him upstairs. Even after a decade on the job, I knew better than to drink. His suite was posher than any in-call has the right to be. I doubted that he’d stayed in anything below five stars in his life. I complimented his digs, and he looked a little defensive, like he thought I was critiquing his performance.

Maybe I was. He was fun to tease, and his being so young and hot and loaded made it easier. I’d spent years passively psychoanalyzing clients. There’s a frustrating sweetness that comes from men who are wrestling with their inner animal. I treated myself to a little inside joke and showed him a taste of what it actually looks like when people want you really, really badly. I fumbled with the gift cards and awkwardly complimented his body when he took off his shirt. When he tried to undress me I just moved away and sat on the bed, making stilted small talk — something about the upcoming Olympics. I could see him getting frustrated, but I was convinced I knew how far I could push it before it became a real turn-off.

Unphased, he came over and sat in my lap. He had the shamelessness necessary for the line of work. It was admirable, really. He asked me if I liked how he looked and I told him again that he was very handsome. I made sure to keep it good and proper even though I was staring down at his cock. He shuffled closer. _Wouldn’t I like to show how much I liked him?_ He traced his finger down the front of my shirt. I laced my fingers through his and kissed his cheek, all innocent romance. He dragged our joined hands over my crotch and pressed down hard.

I figured then that it was time to stop playing with him and start — well — _playing_ with him. What really got me was a small moment where he broke character. He was undoing my belt when he whispered in my ear: “You still want to fuck me, right?” Someone else might have been able to pretend they were joking, but his voice was too honest. Even after telling me he wanted to be desirable, after paying a not inconsiderate amount for it, he still needed that reassurance. I actually felt a little rotten for teasing him — if he couldn’t notice that I actually quite liked him, then there were deeper issues at play. I always prided myself on going out of my way to make clients feel special and listened to, but here I was, rudely holding out on him just to amuse myself.

The rest of the evening I made it up to him, laying it on real thick and calling him beautiful and telling him how I wanted to take care of him and bring him traveling around the world with me. It seemed like he got off more on that than on me complimenting his arse or his blowjob technique. He drank it all up though — I don’t think I’ve ever had a client who cared so much about what I had to say about them. At the end of the evening I genuinely regretted that he hadn’t paid for an overnight. I had to go from spooning him and stroking his hair to re-dressing in my posh clothes and promising to call for another date soon.

He never called me again. Maybe he was just busy or got into a relationship, but I have a feeling we might have touched some kind of nerve. I was sad not to see him again, considering he was hotter and more interesting than almost anyone else in my contact book, but I’d seen enough clients come and go through the years that I didn’t lose too much sleep over it.

It was only another year or so, when I was deep into some midnight Twitter scrolling, that I spotted Erik’s picture above some BBC headline. I nearly swallowed my tongue. A little digging revealed that he was famous enough to warrant his own Wikipedia page (and paid more than enough to pay for a sleepover, though I didn’t take it personally). I clicked into the article with my mouth literally hanging open — Erik had been involved in some long and convoluted contract negotiations that finally ended up shaking out in his favor. I really couldn’t believe it — I remember texting the friend who’d referred him. I had a few choice words for his choice not to warn me. If I’d understood his situation, I wouldn’t have made him risk meeting me in public. But, knowing his line of work, I think he might have actually been into the thrill.

I ended up following him in the media for a few years. I knew that some of my other clients were important in their own ways — corporate executives and political types — but I still count Erik as my true brush with fame. He was a memorable client, but he was an even more memorable ex-client, the kind I could drunkenly brag about to my close friends in the industry. 

Thinking back on it now, I’m actually glad I didn’t know who he was. Meeting him was exciting on its own, and I liked getting a sense of him as a person before I discovered what he did for a living. Above all, I thank my lucky stars that the tabloids never picked up on it. It was a fair few years before I was ready to really make my public debut, and I wouldn’t want it to be on the front page of the _Mail._

  


* * *

**Love to the Limit** will be available in stores, online, and on Jay’s website (www.jaybee.co.uk) starting January 1st.

**Author's Note:**

> let's be real this isn't getting published anywhere besides Penthouse
> 
> redpaint on tumblr!


End file.
